Page 9 of Mayhem

Priya pointed at my face. “I knew she’d like those.”

“I haven’t chosen anything.” I picked one up and tested the weight in my palm. If I drove the heel into someone’s foot hard enough, they would remember me every time it rained. “I’m evaluating.”

“You’re choosing,” Devon said.

I looked at him. “You’re enjoying this too much for someone standing within throwing distance.”

He lifted both hands, still calm. “I’m here as a witness.”

“That’s worse.”

Deciding a fight wasn’t worth it, I sat on the edge of the bed and changed shoes while Priya inspected my desk like my room had personally invited her to violate its privacy. She picked up the campus map beside my laptop, turned it sideways, and frowned at the marks I’d made near the east walkway before setting it exactly where she’d found it.

Devon turned his back before I tugged at the strap around my ankle, as Maren stepped around Priya to set the empty shoeboxes together on the corner of my bed, her eyes moving once over the stripped lamp base, the notebook, and the bedframe before coming back to me.

“These are terrible,” I said, fastening the second strap and flexing my foot against the floor. The shoes pinched near the ankle, but the heel had enough weight to make me stop wanting to throw them out the window immediately.

Priya looked over from my desk again. “They’re the least terrible option. You can keep acting like the boots are a personality trait, but people are starting to recognize you by sound before you even turn a corner. These make you look like you’re trying to follow the rules badly instead of declaring war on them.”

“I was not declaring war on the rules.” I stood, tested my balance, and reached for my leather jacket.

Maren’s mouth softened while she stacked the shoebox lids. “Wear the uniform jacket today.”

“No,” I said, already pulling my leather jacket closer.

Priya crossed the room and plucked the school jacket from the back of my chair before I could grab mine. “One day. That’s all we’re asking. One day where you don’t look like you’re about to mug the dean behind the library and steal his parking pass.”

I stared at the jacket in her hands with its awful navy wool and the Aldrich crest. “I hate the skirt. I hate the bowtie. I hate the shoes. If I also wear that jacket, I’m going to lose the last few scraps of my identity, and then one of you will have to explain to my fathers why I came home looking employable.”

Devon glanced over his shoulder. “Fathers?”

The question landed exactly the way questions always did when someone heard the plural and realized I hadn’t misspoken. Priya stopped trying to force the jacket into my hands, and Maren’s fingers stilled on the shoebox lid. None of them jumped on it, which meant they were either polite or smart enough to know I’d bite if they lunged too fast.

I took the jacket from Priya and shoved my arms through the sleeves. “Don’t look so proud of yourselves.”

Priya’s smile said she was absolutely going to be proud of the fact that I was finally giving in. She moved behind me without asking, caught the collar before I could ruin it, and tugged it into place with quick, bossy little movements. “There. Still weird, but now it looks intentional. Wealthy people love intentional. It makes bad decisions feel curated.”

“I’m keeping the bowtie loose,” I said.

“Obviously. I’m not trying to destroy your spirit before lunch.”

The walk to Sterling’s building took us through the west court, where the rain from last night had left the stone paths dark and slick. The heels changed the way I moved, which annoyed me more than the pinch at my ankle. The boots let me own the ground. These made me think about it. Priya noticed, slowing enough that I didn’t have to rush while I learned the new balance.

Students looked anyway. The uniform did its job, smoothing the first glance, before they got to the dyed streaks in my hair or the expression on my face. The whispers still followed. They were just softer now, more curious than alarmed.

“That’s her, right?” someone murmured near the archway as we passed. “The transfer?”

“She looks different today.”

“Still her.”

I kept my gaze forward and let the words trail behind me. Priya’s shoulder brushed mine once, a reminder to keep walking. Devon and Maren kept their head on a swivel, which was... weird.

“You three always move like this?” I asked as we crossed under the stone arch. “Or did I stumble into some rich-kid migration pattern?”

Priya adjusted the strap of her bag and kept walking. “We move like this because Aldrich is full of people who think a conversation is harmless right up until they realize they’ve agreed to something. Devon makes sure nobody boxes us in, Maren sees doors and exits, and I talk enough that people underestimate what everyone else is doing.”

Devon opened a side door with his student ID and held it while we passed. “That’s the most generous description of yourself I’ve ever heard.”